Monday, December 10, 2012
The Christmas Flu and Mr. Bubbles
So, I take our little guy to the doctor, and he tests positive for the flu.
"I have the flu," he announces to his brothers when we come home. He almost sounds proud.
His brothers aren't impressed; in fact, they are horrified.
"Look, don't come within five feet of me," orders Nicholas. "I have exams coming up. I just can't get the flu."
I think Timothy looks a little insulted, but it's hard to tell because he looks so pitiful. Anyway, I medicate him, bundle him up in blankets, and within five minutes he's sound asleep on the couch.
I then prepare to do battle which, for me, means a trip to the grocery store to stock our pantry. Everything I don't usually buy, I do. With a sick child who doesn't have an appetite, I don't care what he eats as long as he eats. So things like popsicles, ice cream sandwiches, and Kraft macaroni and cheese (not the regular kind, mind you, but the Sponge Bob kind) make it into my shopping cart along with jello, applesauce, and ingredients for a variety of soups. For good measure, I also pick up a big jug of Mr. Bubbles because nothing is more soothing and relaxing than a good bubble bath (my ultimate secret weapon with all illnesses).
Later that night we're all sitting in the family room watching the season finale of The Amazing Race, and during a commercial Nicholas and Jonathan give Timothy some orders.
"Five feet. That's how far you need to stay away from me," reminds Nicholas.
"Don't get your flu germs all over the Wii," says Jonathan. "Don't use the purple controller. Don't use the black controller."
Well, we only have a purple and black controller, and Timothy opens his mouth to say something. I have a feeling it's not something good, so I intervene.
"Timothy, don't listen to your brothers. You'll be home without them, and you can do whatever you want. You can even go roll around in their beds and breathe on their pillows."
"Mom!" yell the older boys.
But Timothy can hold his own because a few commercials later he stands in front of Nicholas and asks him if this is five feet. When Nicholas says yes, Timothy takes a giant step forward.
"Four feet," he says with a grin. He takes another step. "And now it's three feet."
This time Dad intervenes.
For someone who is supposed to be sick, and who looks like death warmed over, Timothy is not going to let some silly flu bug stop him from having fun. He sets up Star Wars Monopoly on the kitchen table so we can play all day (guess who is included in that we?), he places Scrabble Junior and Guess Who? next to the couch, and the Lego bins are ready and waiting.
Something tells me this is going to be a long week ...
and I am thinking that I just may have to keep Mr. Bubbles for myself.